When Did Jasper Johns Make Flag? [Part 1]

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The stories of Jasper Johns’ Flag is almost as famous as the artwork itself. In 1957, Leo Castelli had come for a studio visit with Robert Rauschenberg, only to find Jasper Johns’ work there, and offer the younger, unknown artist a solo show on the spot. That 1958 show, Johns’ first, ended up on the cover of Art News. Alfred Barr bought three works out of it for MoMA. When more conservative trustees balked at the possibility that the till-then-unknown artist might have unpatriotic intentions, Barr leaned on Philip Johnson to buy a fourth, Flag.
And of course, there’s the story of how Johns made it, which MoMA lays out succinctly:

“One night I dreamed that I painted a large American flag,” Johns has said of this work, “and the next morning I got up and I went out and bought the materials to begin it.” Those materials included three canvases that he mounted on plywood, strips of newspaper, and encaustic paint–a mixture of pigment and molten wax that has formed a surface of lumps and smears. The newspaper scraps visible beneath the stripes and forty-eight stars lend this icon historical specificity. The American flag is something “the mind already knows,” Johns has said, but its execution complicates the representation and invites close inspection. A critic of the time encapsulated this painting’s ambivalence, asking, “Is this a flag or a painting?”

But what’s not exactly so clear is when Johns actually made Flag. It became so famous and influential so quickly, and its story is so fantastic–a dream! a flag! a magazine cover! MoMA!–that the pre-1958 history gets compressed into a largely uninvestigated corner.
MoMA’s listing officially, and oddly, notes the date for Flag as “1954-55 (dated on reverse 1954).” So 1954-55. But perhaps 1954. Not an idle difference, I think. But there’s more.
From an awesome footnote in Michael Crichton’s awesome 1977 Whitney catalogue:

Occasionally his working methods cause curatorial problems. One long-standing question concerns the date of his first Flag painting, originally purchased by Philip Johnson in 1958, and now in the collection fo the Museum of Modern Art. The painting was dated 1954, but Johns argued that it was done in 1955. Recently someone noticed that the collage included newsprint from 1956, and the museum wanted to change the date accordingly. Johns stated that the picture was damaged in his studio in 1956, and that he repaired it that year, but that the painting was still properly dated 1955. He also points out that certain early works include collage elements that are old–much older than the paintings themselves–thus obviating entirely such direct methods of dating. [p. 65]

So this painting, “his first Flag painting,” has 1954 written on the back. The artist argues for 1955. Some collage material visibly dates from 1956. And then the artist warns against attempting to date a work by the date of the collage elements. But isn’t the issue here not that it could appear to be earlier than it is, but that it’s actually later than the artist claimed? Twice?
I would think that contemporary analytical tools exist that can test whether Flag was repaired as Johns claimed. Or maybe close looking is sufficient. Crichton set up this curatorial dating problem with one of my favorite quotes from the catalogue:

A note of caution: Often John’s [sic] “laborious efforts” to cover actually draw attention to what has happened. One may speculate that the layered meanings in a Johns work have their analogue in the layers of paint and wax that sometimes conceal, sometimes reveal, what lies beneath. That is one way to look at it. Another way is to recognize that he is a painter whose interest in process leads him to reveal the process–as an action over time–to the viewer. That is, a series of events and decisions led to the final picture; Johns often seems as interested in the sequence of steps as he is in the final result–at least, he often tries to show “what happened” along the way. It may be exaggerated to say that a Johns painting contains its own biography, but that kind of idea is present in many pictures.

Maybe it’s the artwork’s instant iconic status, or maybe it’s the power of the alluringly iconic image it depicts, but lately, it feels like I’ve begun taking closer looks at Flag for the first time. And it’s pretty surprising.
One thing’s for certain, though: Flag is not Johns’ first flag painting. [cont’d]
Jasper Johns, Flag, “1954-55 (dated on reverse 1954)” [moma.org]
Fred Orton’s 1996 book Figuring Jasper Johns is one of the few in-depth analyses I’ve found of Flag. [amazon]

Death Watch

Alright, the mourning process seems to be ending, but the Guggenheim still hasn’t posted video of the crazy/awesome/all over the place speeches from “The Last Word,” the TED-like symposium marathon organized last weekend for the end of Maurizio Cattelan’s “All.” And for his supposedly looming retirement from artmaking.
So I’ve gone ahead and posted a Storify recap of the livetweet commentary I did, almost involuntarily, when I stumbled across the webcast, about mid-way through Francis Naumann’s discussion of Duchamp’s supposed retirement.
Let’s see if this works:

Continue reading “Death Watch”

Has Erik Satie Been Performed On US Network Television Since 1963?


This 1963 episode of I’ve Got A Secret pops up periodically. From this week on Boing Boing to Alex Ross’s 2007 blog post searching for Karl Schenzer.
And it is, indeed, pretty interesting. John Cale was recently arrived in New York City–Ross notes that he got a ride down from Tanglewood in Iannis Xenakis’s car–and still a couple of years away and a stint under LaMonte Young’s sway from forming the Velvet Underground. John Cage enlisted him and some other sympathetic pianists to perform Vexations, an epic 1949 composition by Erik Satie, for the first time. That was Cale’s secret. Schenzer’s was that he alone stayed for the entire 18-hour performance.
Of course, Cage himself had appeared on I’ve Got A Secret in 1960, giving a raucous rendition of his composition, Water Walk, while dressed, typically, like a Methodist minister.

Three years later, Cale and Schenzer also exude a buttoned-up, Cageian seriousness, but what caught my attention was Schenzer’s namecheck of the concert’s sponsor, the Foundation for Contemporary Performance Arts, which Cage and Jasper Johns had just launched.
By 1963, I guess these folks were becoming better known, and certain of them, particularly Johns and Rauschenberg, were selling a fair amount of artwork. Yet as soon as they had two nickels to rub together, these artists were using the money to support and propagate the work of their fellow artists.
And it really amazes me to think that the cultural factions of the time were still so close together that this avant garde crew could turn up on a network TV game show. John Cage may have turned up at some point in the intervening 30 years, but it’s very easy for me to imagine that the first mention of Erik Satie on CBS was also his last.

ORLY? Marine Hugonnier’s Art for Modern Architecture (Homage to Ellsworth Kelly)

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Marine Hugonnier, Art for Modern Architecture (Homage to Ellsworth Kelly), The New York Times (Week of February 21st to February 27th 2005)
Now this gets very interesting very quickly. Jason, a sharp-eyed greg.org reader in Paris, just sent along a link to a recent post on We Find Wildness about the very interesting work of Marine Hugonnier:

Art for Modern Architecture (2004-ongoing) investigates the role of the image, its abilities and its limitations and reverses the process by obstructing the press images on the front page of a week’s worth of newspapers (the series include The New York Times, The Times, Die Tageszeitung, Le Monde, The Herald Tribune, The Neue Zürcher Zeitung and Al Ayaam) with collages made of cutouts from ELLSWORTH KELLY’s book Line Form Color.
ELLSWORTH KELLY claimed that art was to be made for public spaces and buildings, thus establishing the modernist utilitarian project of art serving modern architecture. This project renews KELLY’S ideas and re-elaborates them within another medium, that of a newspaper, the ‘architecture’ of which frames everyday life.

Hugonnier’s series is not an unknown quantity by any means. Her 2007 Kellyfication of The Times of London, for instance, was acquired by MoMA in 2008. If Cornelius Tittel, the Welt’s culture editor responsible for the newspaper’s special all-Kelly edition somehow did not know of Hugonnier’s work, which is one of the more prominent contemporary examples of art that directly deals with newspapers as media, Kelly and/or his crew certainly knew. I would chalk this one up as a great idea that positively demanded to be realized.
FREAKY HUGONNIER-IN-THE-AIR UPDATE I just caught up with it now, but Ro/Lu also posted about Hugonnier’s Art for Modern Architecture series, including some gorgeous images of her more recent pieces, where she uses her own abstract cut-outs. Great minds &c., &c.!
Previously, and still definitely related, also, from 2003, so really, who even knows what kind of amazing material the guy’s got squirreled away? Ellsworth Kelly on Ground Zero

Wade’s Welt, Excellent

I stopped by a friend’s studio yesterday–which was fantastic, btw–and as I was leaving, and I noticed the cool, old Ellsworth Kelly exhibition poster in the bathroom, I so I was all, have you seen the Kelly edition of Die Welt, and he’s all, it’s fantastic, I just got it as a gift! and I’m all, right here right now? and he’s all, yeah, I just brought it in, do you want to see it? and I’m like, well, yeah, and he’s all, well, everyone should see it, Ellsworth’s so lucky, and then the adult in the room was all, you should have some white gloves, and then we had to figure out who was actually the best at turning the pages, and anyway, long story short, it’s completely incredible, and it would never happen in the US, but we all pretty much agreed that USA Today should do it. Can you even imagine it?
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I Wanna The Kelly Welt, Chico, An Everthinisinnit

Ausgezeichnet!
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To promote his two shows in Munich this fall/winter, at the Pinakothek and the Haus der Kunst [which closed this week, btw], the local paper die Welt published a special issue in which all photos were replaced by Ellsworth Kelly paintings. Cereal Records points to Burning Settlers Cabin, whoprocured a copy, which makes me all the more determined to track one down myself.
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Unfortunately, all I can find on the Welt website is an offer for a facsimile edition of the front page [top], printed on archival paper in an edition of 100. I mean, it’s signed, but I’m not sure that this works quite as well as a print as the newspaper does as an awesome object.
Any German-reading newspaper hoarders out there, please get in touch.
Great story: Just Say No To Safe [burningsettlerscabin via cerealrecords]
Die Welt’s all-Ellsworth Kelly issue [cerealrecords]
Limitiert und handsigniert: die Kelly-Edition zur Zeitung, 499 Euro zuzüglich versicherten Versands [welt.de]
Previously, and definitely related: Ellsworth Kelly on Ground Zero
Previously, related, and not as awesome: Robert Rauschenberg’s Piece of Tropic, 1979, ed. 650,000

Deeecoding Hirst

Basically, yeah, there was no way I could just let Daniel Barnes’ hearsay claim that there’s a secret text encoded in each of Damien Hirist’s spot paintings go untested last night.
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But the mechanics of decoding a Hirst Code, if it does, indeed, exist, are non-trivial. Sure, there’s a key painting [on which more in a second], but the whole public premise of the series is that no color repeats within a painting. Yet there are many spots in a large painting which seem nearly indistinguishable from each other. So matching up the ABC0-9 color key precisely to the hundreds of similar spots is, to use the term of the season, a challenge.
The trick, I think, is to have a computer color match the Pantone PMS codes between the Key Painting and the others. Which requires color-matched images. But Hirst’s catalogue of the complete spots doesn’t drop until July. So I just went ahead and grabbed one of the largest spot images I could find, and then I combined it with a Key Painting, and ran it–or babystepped it, really–through Photoshop.
Tate Modern was the single, go-to source. Tate has both a key painting, Controlled Substances Key Painting (Spot 4a) [above], and a large [2×2.5m] spot painting, Anthraquinone-1 Diazonium Chloride[below], from 1994.
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A quick note on the Key Paintings: according to Tate Modern, Hirst made four of them, in different dimensions [1″ to 4″ spots], and they are the only Spot paintings in which the color layout is identical. Which would imply, then, that there is a single key. Though there are definitely plenty of cryptographic methods for thwarting an assumption like that, too.
Anyway, I combined the two Tate images in one Photoshop canvas, and started waving my Magic Wand over each Key Painting spot in turn, looking for matches among the larger painting’s 2,050 spots. Immediately, when several A’s came up, I confirmed that I still had a matching problem; theoretically, there should be one, at most. The color scales of Photoshop, the compression algorithms of JPGs and TIFFs, all of these mediations affect the precise matching between two Hirst paintings. [I just realized that Hirst’s spots actually almost pre-date Photoshop itself, which first launched in 1989, and which didn’t get color management until v5.0 in 1998.]
There were also matches I thought were obvious, but which PS didn’t even touch. I decided to be systematic, and to err on the side of more information now, in hopes of detecting a pattern later. So I checked tolerances at 5 and 8%, and only marked spots where the central majority of the spot was highlighted. Having no letter matched up felt more validating somehow than having just one. When I did Q, I jumped to U. I did the digits, too, because they were provided, and because 733tspeak did exist in some form since the 80s, and maybe Hirst was a phone phreakin’ BBS nerd in high school, who knows?
I put all the text into a separate layer, which is below. It was really late last night, like around 1:30, so I can’t be entirely sure until I check it again in the daylight, but I think I have seen something.
hirst_code_tate_deeelite.jpg
There seems to be a structured passage in the top center of the painting. Here’s a detail:
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I’m going to doublecheck my work, but in the mean time, please don’t go running to Gagosian trying to claim a free spot painting and pretend you are the one who found Hirst’s secret message from 1994.

Rijksoverheid Rood 8: Better Roller

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Alright, I think we finally may be onto something. I switched to a high-density foam roller for this next coat, and though it looks kind of eggshelly in the photo, it actually ends up drying to a smoother finish than any brush so far. And it uses less paint, which means no drip/stalactites around the edges, which need to be cut/sanded off.
The rhythm is sort of set now: when I start a new coat, I flip the panel over and wetsand and tack the coat from two sessions prior. That way, the coats go on each side sort of interlaced [I’m painting both sides, and I think it’ll be done when the panel builds up a sufficient edge of paint, not support, and there’s a pretty clean, non-painterly surface with no discernible front/back.] They’re not there yet, but it now seems like they will be.
On the question of posting this kind of log/journal-style info, yeah, it’s still kind of boring to me, mixed with a bit of incredulity that really, why would anyone care? But that’s fine.
Because one of the things I’ve found is that these posts almost always draw out some helpful and interesting emails from people who know paint far better than I do. So it’s really nice to hear from people, to get advice and feedback, to check my assumptions, and to see what other people are doing.
Part of my decision to paint was to learn what it’s really like, to see what paint does, how it behaves. And part of it was definitely to actually see some particular objects in person that I’ve seen in my mind, and which I haven’t really found anywhere else. So it’s all pretty good.

The Hirst Code

Speaking of texts written in entirely unlikely places
I really have no idea what to make of the kicker in Daniel Barnes’ Artslant review of the Brittania St installation of Damien Hirst: The Complete Spot Paintings:

As to be expected with Hirst, there is yet more spectacle. A member of Gagosian staff tells me that the key paintings which correlate specific colours with letters of the alphabet are the start of a game: if you look at each painting carefully, a sequence of colours will reveal a hidden word, and if you get the word first you win a spot painting.

I mean, first, second, and third: W, T and F? [Or in Morse Code, ⚈ – – – ⚈⚈-⚈?]
hirst_spots_key_ngs.jpg
image via tate modern, © Damien Hirst. All rights reserved, DACS 2009
A secret word embedded in each painting? Is there one word repeated or 1,200 or 1,500 separate words? Is there one key for all of them, or one for each of them? Is there one free painting for each of them? If you crack the Hirst Code, do you become overnight the artist’s single largest collector, the Mugrabis of Hirst? If so, doesn’t Viktor Pinchuk already have a team of ex-KGB cryptographers working on this problem?
Entirely aside from the “win a painting” sweepstakes element–the Secret Hirst’s Other Spot Challenge–what are the conceptual contours of a Hirst Code? Are the words encoded in The Complete Spot Paintings random, or a list, or do they constitute a single, secret text? Is it an essay, a manifesto? An epic poem or sacred text? Is it the first page of a great novel,, or did Hirst randomly encode a page from his pharmaceuticals catalogue–or from a Tesco mailing, or his cable bill, whatever he had lying around the studio? Or does it just say ARSE 1,500 times?

Continue reading “The Hirst Code”

Moby Dick Typed On Toilet Paper

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There is much to do, and much to write, but it’ll have to wait. Because right this minute, a copy of Moby Dick typed on six rolls of toilet paper is for sale on eBay:

MY FRIEND AND I ONCE JOKED THAT TOILET PAPER SHOULD HAVE INSTRUCTIONS PRINTED ON THEM FOR CERTAIN PEOPLE
ONE DAY, THE CONVERSATION GREW FROM THERE AND TURNED INTO A WAGER THAT I COULDN’T (OR WOULDN’T) BE ABLE TO TYPE OUT A NOVEL ON TOILET PAPER.
YES, WE DID HAVE SOME TIME ON OUR HANDS BUT, AS YOU CAN SEE BY THE FOLLOWING PHOTOS, I WON THE BET.
THERE ARE FOUR FULL ROLLS, ONE ROLL (EPILOGUE) IS ABOUT 1/5 OF A ROLL AND ONE HALF-ROLL
ALL OF THE ROLLS OF TP CAME OUT OF A BRAND NEW — CLEAN — PACKAGE OF 2-PLY COTTONELLE
THEY’VE BEEN HANDLED VERY GINGERLY AND INFREQUENTLY
AS YOU’LL SEE IN THE FOLLOWING PHOTOS, ONE OR TWO ROLLS HAVE A TEAR AT THE BEGINNING
THIS IS WHERE I WAS TRYING TO PULL THE PAPER THROUGH THE TYPEWRITER
I’VE KEPT THIS MOD ODDITY IN A BOX IN A COOL, DRY PLACE FOR THE LAST 10 YEARS
AND HAVE ONLY BROKEN IT OUT TO PROVE TO DOUBTERS THAT I ACTUALLY DID IT
CONSIDERING WHAT IT’S BEEN THROUGH, IT’S IN AMAZING CONDITION

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I mean, there’s so much we still don’t know. Like who did it? In this day of Facebook non-privacy, how can an artist be known simply as The Toilet Paper Moby Dick Master? And how long did it take? Wait, before that, even, what, really, was this conversation that led to this bet? And how did the bet end up involving one of the longer novels in the canon? Why not something shorter? Something like On The Road?
on_the_road_scroll.jpg
Moby Dick typed on toilet paper, opening bid, $399.95 plus free shipping, auction ends Jan. 29 [ebay via @cthon1c]
Kerouac Scroll Tour [ontheroad.org]
UPDATE: since posting this, the opening bid has been raised, appropriately, to $999.95.
UPDATE UPDATE: or one like it. “The seller has relisted this item or one like it.”
PRICELESS UPDATE: On the one hand, especially if I were the one who had typed it, and protected it in a shoebox all these years, I would KNOW KNOW that $320 is a ridiculous insult of a result. How dare eBay? On the other hand, there were four bidders on this thing, so, not entirely unnoticed. The Master Of The Typed On Toilet Paper Moby Dick needs to keep it and turn it into a family heirloom, or he needs to let it go, and let the world–and specifically, the knucklehead(s) contemplating spending several hundred dollars for it–take care of it.

Lines + Dots, Picasso For Bloomsbury Fabrics

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I’ve come across ads while surfing through New Yorkers from the 1950s, but this is one of the first times I’ve seen actual Pablo Picasso silk screened fabric turn up on eBay. And there’s a whole 16-yard run of it, too. $46/yd doesn’t seem like that much, either. Why, you could pay that much for the “fluoridized with DuPont Zepel ®” part alone.
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Vintage Bloomcraft Picasso Line & Dots Fabric 16yd+ Screen Print RARE! UNUSED! starting bid $749

What I Looked At Today: Jean Arp

It’s funny, all this time I’ve been looking hard at the brushstrokes of modernism, abstraction, and monochrome, trying to figure out how they were made–and, thus, how I might make some paintings myself–and I’ve ignored Jean Arp.
When I started wanting to figure out how to do crisp abstraction, I went to look at Dove and Mondrian, only to find drawing & filling in. Sheeler’s precisionist paintings were actually paint-up-to-the-pencil-line sketches.
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When I started wanting to figure out monochrome objects, I looked at Truitt in front of Kelly, and surprised myself to find brushstrokes just all over the damn place.
Still, Truitt’s still Truitt, and Kelly’s still Kelly. I was at the National Gallery yesterday, accompanying the kid’s field trip, and their Truitt is pretty slick. And of course, their Atrium Kelly seems fantastic, if hard to see from the ground.
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Orange Diagonal, 2008, via matthewmarks.com
And Kelly, talking about his recent relief paintings, did tell Carol Vogel, “What I’ve made is real — underline the word real. It becomes more of an object, something between painting and sculpture.” Which I am totally onboard with.
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But which also suddenly reminded me of something I’d read about Thomas Scheibitz a few years ago, from a 2008 show at the Camden Arts Centre:

Scheibitz has developed his own grammar for painting on sculpture, which like his paintings, bows simultaneously to a residual interest in illusionism and representation and at the same time relishes the drips, splashes and material traces that are the legacy of painterly modernism. Indeed the whole point of painted sculpture rests upon it being a real object in space, which simultaneously inhabits an “artificial world”, by virtue of its disguised and painted exterior and its imagined and constructed form. It therefore exists in that realm of “second nature” that Scheibitz describes as the location of his work: the paint helps to suggest that the sculpture has a correlative in the “real” world, while simultaneously undermining any such belief. [emphasis added]

Which at one point, I guess I thought I was onboard with, but now I guess I either don’t understand or believe anymore. About Scheibitz’s undermining, that is. Painted sculpture is just not not real; it’s paint. On sculpture. Paint on an object. If line or color vary from form, I don’t see why that has to be illusory or not “true to the material.” Can’t it look like one thing at first, until you look more closely? Tension or complexity is feature; it shouldn’t all boil down simply to instant perception. I think this is particularly true in Scheibitz’s case as well as Truitt’s and Kelly’s.
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The Forest, detail, 1916, nga has no image
And finding myself with time to stare at Jean Arp’s painted reliefs yesterday doesn’t change that one bit. First off, they are fantastic. The surface is slick, smooth, pristine, nonpainterly.
arp_nga_02.jpg
Shirt Front and Fork, detail, 1922, for which nga also has no image?
Without planning to take up Arp in relation to Kelly, Scheibitz, or Truitt, I found myself impressed by these painted lines, painting on wood. They exist apart somehow from the painterly modernist practice of their time, and seemingly in transgression of sculptural modernism, and yet they’re real. Underlined.
I don’t really know much beyond the Mod101 slideshow blurb about Arp, but I guess I’ll start digging and looking.

Don’t Stop Until SOPA & PIPA Are Stopped

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I’ve been using and working on the Internet for almost twenty years now. I’ve done start-ups and IPOs. I’ve worked for huge companies. I worked for Disney when they didn’t know the web from a CD-ROM. I have been involved and engaged with copyright and intellectual property law and their relationship to art and culture for over a decade.
So my opposition to the entertainment industry’s maximalist online power play, in the current form of two pieces of legislation being considered in the US Congress right now, SOPA and PIPA, is neither fleeting nor naive.
As many people with far greater expertise than I have discussed in great detail, these proposed laws are a grave threat to the Internet as a platform for economic, cultural, and political exchange. They are unnecessarily broad and ambiguous and give vast, new, unchecked power to corporations who have consistently lied and misrepresented their case and the supposed threat they face.
Stop SOPA and PIPA by calling your US Congressional representatives today, but also get smart on the issues surrounding these bills. And keep following them, and keep holding politicians and the companies they’re serving accountable, because this crap won’t end today or this week.
Public Knowledge primer and updates on SOPA & PIPA [publicknowledge.org]

Dutch Camo Landscape Painting Painting – 2

Another Sunday painting. Or another Sunday spent painting.
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I did another round of taping off and painting on the Dutch Camo Landscape photo of Noordwijk today. The first time, I did two identical gray polygons This time, I did three, with different greys.
The taping is the most time-consuming aspect of the process, the mixing the most uncertain, and the painting itself the most anti-climactic.
Not really knowing anything about color systems or theory, I’m just eyeballing each match. At the moment, there’s something going on, I think, with the way the polys get grouped; I mix one grey, then change it for the next, and then the next. They end up being sequential in a way, related to each other, composed of the same constituent pigments. Until they’re not; the last poly was turning out to be not just lighter, but pinker, redder, and so I gambled and added a new paint, a single drop of red oxide, which blew the whole thing. It eventually came around, though.
Though I’m clearly counting on it somehow, I don’t know what’ll happen when I try to paint next to an already-painted polygon. I mean, on the one hand, I don’t know how paint will handle the tape. On the other, there’s a ridge there now. So I could just paint up to it. But that’d mean some edges will be taped and crisp, and others will be brushed.
At this point, I guess I’m still seeing if paint actually does what I think it’ll do when I do it.
In unrelated news, that brown poly in the center of the photo looks kind of like Iraq.

Rijksoverheid Rood 7: Roller

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Well, that was a total surface disaster.
The size and disposability of this crappy little foam roller made it irresistible. The bubbly eggshell finish that even contains a few crumbs of foam made it a total failure putting paint down on the monochromes.
The instructions on the back are so specific, I was tempted to call following them a conceptual conceit:

  1. Pour 1/2 inch of paint into tray
  2. Roll back and forth on slanted section of paint tray to load roller thoroughly
  3. When painting, increase pressure on roller as it dispenses paint to pull paint from inside the foam reservoir
  4. Performance improves as roller becomes fully saturated with paint
  5. Finish with light strokes

But no.
On the bright side, there aren’t any brushstrokes.
FEW HOURS LATER UPDATE: OK, maybe it’s not so bad. The eggshelling thing is a bit subdued, but there’s far less paint per coat with a roller, no drip, and it’s generally smoother overall. I think I will continue with them a bit and see how it sands and builds up.
Previously: Rijksoverheid Rood paintings: the making of